


Idle Hands

by lixabiz



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Hand Syndrome, F/M, PWP, Sexual Fantasy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lixabiz/pseuds/lixabiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This hand, it’s a repressed hand. It spent a lot of time in a jar, thinking dirty thoughts. It’s been a long time for this hand, a few centuries, at least."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

*  
  
Alien Hand Syndrome, AHS for short.  
  
The first well known case in human history was documented in 1908 by a pre-eminent German neuro-psychiatrist, Kurt Goldstein, who recorded in his medical literature the existence of a right-handed woman who had suffered a stroke affecting her left side. Partially recovered, the woman described her left arm as “seeming to belong to another person” and claimed it performed actions that appeared to occur independent of her will.  
  
People diagnosed with AHS continue to feel normal sensation in the offending limb but lose the sense of agency that accompanies purposeful movement of the hand. The owner has no control over the actions of the alien hand, it possesses the capability of acting autonomously. The hand has, in other words, _a will of it’s own_.  
  
"I have alien hand syndrome," the Doctor said to his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. He looked down at his right hand, the one innocuously gripping a tube of toothpaste.  
  
"Who are you talking to?" Rose asked, popping her head into the bathroom, curious.  
  
"Myself," said the Doctor, pulling himself together.  
  
"Kay," said Rose, shrugging.  
  
He was pretty certain he hadn’t been lobotomized since his induction into the human race, and he hadn’t hit his head or fallen or accidentally inhaled any poisonous, brain-altering gases since his arrival into this dimension. But there was no other explanation, it _had_ to be Alien Hand Syndrome.

"Um. So, is your conversation almost done? I need to use the loo."

Rose took his silence as a sign he was finished, and wrapped her hands around him to gently usher him out of the room and into the hallway. He was half-dressed, only wearing a t-shirt, almost naked really, and her touch on his bare skin sent tingles down both his arms. His right hand, the alien one - literally, the one that had once belonged to a Time-and Space travelling alien, and figuratively, the one that had recently become an independent rogue - clenched on the doorknob of the closed bathroom door, and turned it-  
  
He slapped it with his other hand, yanked it away like the metal handle was on fire, and smacked himself on the forehead, repeatedly, with it.  
  
*  
  
 _Behave_ , he told his hand.

It was a demure skirt, very demure, hit her at the knees, not tight, not sheer, not anything objectionable in the least. Not that any of the above things were objectionable. If Rose wanted a tight and sheer skirt the Doctor would run out to the shops and get her one. Because… because he wanted Rose to have the things she wanted. Highest priority, that. Right at the top of his list.

 _I get it,_ he thought, with some sympathy. _You’re a repressed hand. You’ve spent a lot of time in a jar, thinking dirty thoughts. It’s been a long time for you - er, us - a few centuries at last count. I understand.  
_

She opened the pre-heated oven and bent to slide the cupcake pan inside. The skirt, as loose and swingy as it was, immediately became the world’s most form-revealing garment, molding to Rose’s bum. It inched higher, showing off the back of her thighs, igniting a yearning in his fingers to touch and stroke and flip the skirt up the rest of the way.  
  
 _What is wrong with you?_ He admonished, horrified by the impulse. _Nine-hundred years of self-control, gone out the window!_  
  
Said alien hand slid itself into his trouser pocket, as if to hide in embarrassment. He sneered at it.  
  
"What?" Rose demanded, sitting down across from him at the kitchen table.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You’ve got a funny look on your face," she said. "What were you thinking about?"  
  
"Oh… just some Boolean algebraic mathematical structures. The other day, Toshiko had a question for me regarding an alien artefact she’d found in the archives, never seen anything like it before - well, of course she hadn’t, it was a 31st century mapping of topological space problems, very advanced functions, including one I’ve never run across! Imagine that!"  
  
Satisfied with this incomprehensible answer, Rose glanced at the timer she’d set. “Fifteen minutes. We can make it a quick one,” she said, “What d’you reckon?”  
  
He didn’t know if he could be quick. Well, he could be, probably would be, but he didn’t think he’d want to be. Definitely not. He had to do it properly - undo each of those little buttons on her blouse, one by one and slowly. He wondered if she was wearing a plain bra underneath, or the lacy red one he’d caught a glimpse of the other day when she was putting away the laundry.  
  
"Doctor?"  
  
He blinked, refocusing on Rose’s face. “What?”  
  
"Two hand canasta, Artaris version, circa  3.4/Apple/26. The card game you said you’d teach me to play. The one you said was so complicated it made future monks permanently go into solitary confinement upon learning all the rules, because by the time they did, all the other monks who knew all the rules had died of old age. The one I’m going to kick your butt at."  
  
She said this flirtatiously, leaning forward, both elbows on the table. Her breasts pressed against the flat wooden top, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the smudge of flour on her chest.  
  
"What do you say? While we wait for Tony’s cupcakes to bake."  
  
The Doctor shoved his other hand into his pocket and leaned back, closing one eye. “You’ve never even beat me at Cribbage,” he teased, touching his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Flirting he could do. It was easy, and he loved flirting with Rose.  
  
"You’re on," she said, grinning. She pulled a deck of cards out of nowhere, slapped it onto the table.  
  
He lost, very badly, but he knew it was because he had Alien Hand Syndrome and not because Rose’s foot under the table had brushed his leg, several times, by accident.  
  
*  
  
Babysitting Tony always went more smoothly when cupcakes were involved. Some might argue that adding sugar to the natural hyperactivity of an excitable pre-schooler was a mistake, but those people did not have the instinctive, emotional, intellectual bond with children that the Doctor had with Tony.  
  
"Don’t let him play with his ball indoors," Jackie had instructed, with an undertone of ill-portent. She’d waggled a finger at the Doctor, eyes boring meaningfully into his. "He’s obsessed with footie, has been since Pete took him to a game last week."  
  
"Yes," the Doctor had replied, impatiently. "I know. I went too."  
  
So, rather unfortunately, he couldn’t lay the blame at Jackie’s feet for this one.  
  
Quite a lot of carpeting was ruined and the Doctor was afraid the rows of potted houseplants would never be the same again - but all things considered, it wasn’t a total disaster. Relatively speaking. Mostly. Seventy, sixty-five percent.  
  
Oh well, Pete and Jackie were rich, it wasn’t a problem.  
  
His head was the problem. Someone, specifically a four-year-old someone, had used it as a goal post, without malicious intent, but still.  
  
"You alright?" Rose asked, her voice holding a note of concern that didn’t make him feel any better.  
  
"Feel this bruise," he told her, tilting his head 90 degrees. "It’s the size of an eggplant!"  
  
She bit her lip- he suspected to keep from laughing openly at him- and cooed sympathetically, “Go lie down. I’ll bring you some ice.”  
  
*  
  
He fell asleep, somehow, which he had a disconcerting habit of doing on a fairly regular basis now. Usually about once a day, for several hours at a time. Like a child, he railed against it, fought bedtime, fought the sleepies, and submitted only when his physical body could no longer take it. Apparently, getting socked in the head with an astonishingly hard sphere of plastic was one of those times.  
  
When the Doctor woke, he heard the sound of the shower. Rose was in the bathroom. She was probably naked.  
  
The thought sprung unbidden into his sore, groggy head, likely put there by his dirty-minded hand. He glared at it. A voice in his head pointed out that it was perfectly natural for Rose to be naked in the shower. People didn’t shower with their clothes on, except sometimes in elevators in Hospitals run by cat nuns. That distasteful image was superseded by the memory of Rose (well, strictly speaking, it had been Rose-possessed-by-Cassandra) kissing him thoroughly.  
  
His alien hand briefly wondered what might’ve happened if they hadn’t been separated and had been in the same elevator cabin during the ‘disinfection’. The Doctor rolled his eyes, but his traitorous mind conjured up an alternate course of events for the scenario.  
  
He pictured Rose standing before him. She was mid-sentence when the water hit, turning her rosy mouth into a perfect o of surprise. It soaked her from head to toe, leaving her purple top clinging wetly to her breasts and torso.  
  
The water had been warm, he remembered, but back then his body temperature had been lower. To Rose it might’ve felt at most lukewarm, perhaps even cold. Yes, he thought, closing his eyes - surely it would have been cold to her.  
  
Mentally he adjusted the scene, for the sake of accuracy, making the water cold, making Rose’s nipples clearly visible under her wet clothes.  
  
 _You didn’t warn me!_ Imaginary-Rose accused, blinking slowly against the sluicing torrent. _Now I’m all wet!_  
  
The Doctor grinned down at her. _Even if I warned you, you’d still be wet._  
  
 _You’ve got a coat on. S’not fair!_  
  
He took off his coat, slowly, letting it fall to the floor. _Now we’re even._  
  
 _But I’m cold_ , she complained, pouting. She rubbed her arms with her hands, the movement highlighting her breasts. He was instantly hard, which made him feel like a lecherous old man, which was what he actually was, so there was nothing he could do about it.  
  
 _You always underdress,_ he said, feigning a stern voice. _Let this be a lesson to you, Rose Tyler._  
  
Rose stepped closer to him and said contritely, _I’m sorry, Doctor._  
  
Contrary to her tone, she didn’t look sorry in the least. He tsked. The Doctor would have to teach her a lesson, one she’d remember. He reached into his trouser pocket, hitting a setting on the sonic screwdriver that made the shower even cooler in temperature. The elevator shuddered and groaned to a sudden stop. Lights flickered and dimmed.  
  
Fantasy-Rose gasped and stumbled forwards, pressing herself against his chest. _What’s happening, Doctor?_  
  
The Doctor put his arms around her, tucking her head beneath his chin. _Elevator’s malfunctioning._  
  
 _Are we trapped in here, Doctor?_ She bit her lower lip, in that particular way that drove him crazy. It usually happened when she was feeling particularly anxious or when she was aroused. The Doctor always knew the difference, being capable of smelling the pheremones on her. The tight, perky nipples he could feel through the layers of his wet clothing weren’t just from the cold dousing they were receiving.  
  
 _Don’t worry,_ he told her, stroking a hand along her spine. She shivered and arched the small of her back into his touch. _They’ll figure it out, sooner or later._  
  
 _What’re we gonna do in the meantime?_ She was all wide-eyed innocence as she looked up at him through her long, wet lashes. Her hands moved up his wet shirt to toy with the knot of his tie, the heat from the pad of her fingers seeming to sear right through the fabric of his shirt. He slid his hands to her bum, pulling her hips flush with his, making sure she felt exactly what she was doing to him.  
  
The gasp that came from her drove another pang of lust through him. The Doctor bent his head and swallowed the end of the sound, covering that sweet mouth with his own and licking deep inside. She moaned, yanking on his tie to pull him even closer, molding herself to him. He shoved his leg between hers, a bit roughly, but she liked it and rolled her hips, bringing that hot little place between her thighs into contact with his hard-on.  
  
He broke the kiss, bit her lower lip, lightly, and nuzzled his way along her jaw, down her neck, back up to her ear. _Is this what you had in mind? Is that why your shirt is barely buttoned up?_  
  
Because it was. Almost halfway undone, just begging for a strong, clever hand to tear apart the rest.  
  
 _No,_ she said breathlessly, _It was an accident. I don’t know how it happened, I swear._  
  
 _Liar liar pants on fire_ , he said, grinding his erection against her body. He spun them both around, pushing her against the elevator wall, away from the punishing spray of the disinfectant, and pressed his forehead to hers. They stared at one another, hearts racing.  
  
 _Take them off me._ Her lips were red and bruised from his kisses. _They’re soaked._  
  
He shoved his hand down her waistband and inside her knickers, slid his fingers across her slick entrance. _Oh yes. We’d better get you out of these wet clothes._  
  
Her slacks came off, followed by her knickers. Rose’s warm little hand unzipped his trousers, curled around his cock, and pumped. The pleasure of her touch was unbelievable, sending rockets of sensation through his nervous system and breaking all of his self-restraint.  
  
The Doctor lifted her, positioned himself as she wrapped her legs around him, and thrust home. She was so hot and tight and wet, so perfect, he could fuck her forever, love her forever, Rose, his Rose, so gorgeous, so fucking amazing, clenching around his cock like a vise-  
  
A loud, irritating ring broke through, interrupting his thrusts; the Doctor rolled over, eyes wide, panic seizing his senses. Rose shuffled into the room wearing nothing but a fluffy white robe, her hair wrapped in a towel turban.  
  
"Where’s my bloody mobile gone?" she muttered, tossing clothes and bags and shoes aside in her search for the source of the annoying ring. "Doctor? Have you seen it?"  
  
In a frantic move, the Doctor rolled over again to hide his hard-on and buried his shameful, burning face into the pillow.

 

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also post this fic on tumblr, which usually gets updated first, under the same username. Just FYI :)

Together they went into the dressing room of the men’s section of a shop very similar to Henrik’s, except that it wasn’t. There was no Henrik’s in this world, no mannequins, no automatons, no basement. There _was_ , however, an alien growth on the fourth floor of this particular establishment that was spreading across the Kitchenwares department. Which was bad news, because said alien growth was also currently emitting a poisonous gas that was knocking out the poor unlucky sods who had just popped in to buy overpriced oven mitts and silicone bakeware.  
  
Rose unzipped the duffle bag she’d been carrying and unloaded several sonic devices the Doctor had spent a week putting together from spare parts he’d found in the supply closet at Torchwood headquarters. He could have made better, back on the Tardis, but it wasn’t too shabby of a job all things considered.  
  
"Are you sure these will fit under your trousers?" Rose sounded skeptical. "They’re, ah, a bit tight."  
  
He pulled the curtain shut, ignoring the scandalised look on the changing room attendant’s face. “There’s room about my ankles.”  
  
"I’ll do the honours, shall I?" She nodded towards the bench in the corner. He went and sat on it, rolling up his trouser legs to help her.  
  
"It’ll take ten minutes, tops," he told her confidently as she kneeled on the linoleum floor, wrapping one device around his left ankle. "I’ll stroll in, find the growth, activate the sonic frequency that’ll render it paralyzed and ‘unconscious’, so to speak. Then you come in with the bucket and scrape it off the walls."  
  
"Fun," said Rose, securing the buckle. "That’s not too tight, is it?"  
  
"No," the Doctor said, distracted by the sight of her on her knees, in between his spread legs. She was at the perfect level for… for… certain activities. He could reach out with his right hand and bury his fingers into her soft hair and she’d know, right away, what he wanted. His fingers tingled, finding the idea enticing.  
  
 _Bad hand!_ He banished that line of thought quickly to avoid embarrassment. Because the object of his fantasies was about a foot away from the getting the point. Literally.  
  
Rose finished what she was doing and stood, dusting her palms. She pulled the curtain open, stepped out, and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Coming?”  
  
"Now or never!" The Doctor exclaimed, leaping to his feet. He charged out of the little enclave and made a run for the elevator.  
  
Rose followed him into the empty cab as he was jabbing at the close button, turning to face him as the door shut. They were alone and in an elevator and because he- no, his hand, because his alien hand- was a debauched Cyprian of the highest order, it was only natural that his mind should wander to last night’s interrupted fantasy…  
  
The ping of the elevator door opening jolted him from his meandering thoughts. He leapt away from Rose like a startled springbok. A woman with a baby stroller stood waiting on the other side of the door. She shot a suspicious look at the Doctor.  
  
"Sorry! We’ll get out of your way!" he said cheerily, and added "Ta!" to thank her for no apparent reason as he sauntered past, ankles heavy with sonic machinery.  
  
Rose tugged on his sleeve and pointed at the large arrow signs above them. He was going the wrong way. Kitchenwares was to their right.  
  
Chagrined, and determined not to show it, he marched ahead of her, deliberately keeping a bounce in his step. Time for action and adventure and a bit of world-saving, one unconscious shopper at a time.  
  
 _No more shenanigans, you grimy old thing. We’re getting down to business._  
  
He paused at the first display of shiny silver pots and counted the pairs of legs he could see peeking out from the aisle.  
  
"Five people," Rose said, crossing her arms over her chest. Being shorter than him, she had to stand on her tip toes to see over the pots. "How’s your line of vision, Doctor? Can you see the target?"  
  
He glanced down at her and found it difficult to tear his gaze away. The front zipper on Rose’s jumper had unzipped a bit (from bending over to strap the sonic devices to his ankles? On purpose because she was feeling overheated from the sight of his manly, hairy calves? They were quite sexy, according to some) and was baring a lot more of her chest than it had previously. From his heightened angle, the Doctor could see right down into her cleavage, and damned if it didn’t seem like she wasn’t wearing anything under her jumper. His fingers twitched, imagined themselves tugging on the little silver tab of the zipper, pulling it the rest of the way down.  
  
 _No,_ he told his wayward hand, sternly. _Have you no dignity? You’re a Timelord hand. You’re better than this._  
  
"It’s good," he said, turning his head and clearing his throat. "Wait for my signal!"  
  
"OK," Rose said, grabbing a large stock pot. "Left my bucket downstairs."  
  
*  
  
"I’m covered in gunk!" Rose complained as the Doctor removed his smoking anklets. He threw the now useless weapons of mass preservation (of humanity) into a nearby rubbish bin and returned to help her clamp an ill-fitting lid onto the stock pot she’d, ahem, acquired.  
  
"Ugh," Rose groaned exasperatedly, noticing the smear on the back of her jumper. "How the-?"  
  
The Doctor was turning to look at a set of banana-shaped salt shakers when he saw- out of the corner of his eye- her fingers reaching for the silver tab of her zipper. He twisted his head around so fast he almost slipped a disc at the top of his spine.  
  
As he watched, transfixed, Rose unzipped her jumper all the way and shrugged the offending garment off her shoulders. She was wearing a vest top underneath.  
  
The Doctor shut his jaw with a click, vaguely relieved and extremely disappointed at the same time.  
  
 _You’re a reprobate,_ he told his hand, eyes glued to Rose’s backside as she leaned over to wipe alien gunk off her shoes.  
  
Before they left the department store, they paid for the pot. The man behind the check-out counter was not amused.  
  
*  
  
Much, much later, in the privacy of the laundry room in a dark corner of their basement, the Doctor imagined himself back in the changing room with Rose, clad in her little pink vest and very little else.  
  
This time, however, she didn’t stand up and pull the curtain open. Instead she put her hands on his knees, smiled, and scooted up closer between his legs.  
  
 _There’s still too many people on the floor,_ fantasy Rose said, tongue peeking out. _Too dangerous. We need to wait it out._  
  
He leaned back, looking down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. _How long?_  
  
 _Until the shop closes. Two hours._ Her little hands danced up his thighs, massaging and stroking. He tensed, gripping the edges of the bench. _We’re going to have to be very, very, very quiet, so they don’t know we’re here. Can you be quiet, Doctor?_  
  
 _You’re the one doing all the talking right now,_ he said. He cupped her face. She nuzzled his palm in response, tongue flicking out for a taste of his skin. _Wicked girl_ , he praised, stomach flipping with anticipation.  
  
She giggled, in a way she’d never giggled before. It was naughty, so naughty, making his lecherous hand cramp with need.  
  
 _Go ahead,_ fantasy Rose urged. _Touch me._  
  
He did. He tangled his hand into her messy ponytail, pulled the elastic free. The silky blonde mass fell around her shoulders, long and shiny. She looked so young like that, so reminescent of the first time he’d seen her, in a dark basement surrounded by dummies. It added a piquant note of debauchery to the entire thing, making him even more aroused than he already was.  
  
 _Rose,_ he groaned.  
  
 _Yes, Doctor? What do you want?_  
  
He gripped the back of her neck, gently pulling her closer. The other hand covered hers, dragged it to his crotch. Together they pulled down his zipper. Her hand slipped inside the placket, cupping him, pulling him free. He was semi-hard, she would take care of the rest.  
  
 _I’ll do anything you want me to._  
  
He guided her mouth onto him, the slick heat of her lips lingering torturously on his sensitive skin. Her lipstick smudged onto his cock - the very sight of it made him break into a sweat.  
  
 _Is that good?_ she asked around his throbbing tip.  
  
He chastised, _Be quiet, Rose. Your mouth is full._  
  
She obeyed, and took him as far as she could, all the way to the base of her throat. Her mouth was unbelievably hot and got him fully hard, almost instantly. To reward her for being such a good girl he let his free hand wander down her chest to tweak at her nipple through her top. She moaned around him, sending incredible vibrations straight to his core.  
  
 _Look at me_ , he ordered. _You’re gorgeous like that. With your lips around my cock, sucking me off._  
  
Those big brown eyes met his gaze, fringed in sooty black lashes, heavy with mascara. Like she was nineteen again, innocent, challenging him to do something about it.  
  
He couldn’t wait to be balls-deep inside her, fucking her until she screamed his name or forgot her own. Whichever came first. Didn’t matter. He’d make her come so hard she’d see the stars they no longer traversed the Universe for. Over and over and over again, until they were both sated.  
  
He closed his fist over himself and stroked, firmly, relentlessly, to the rhythm of Rose’s imagined mouth. She teased him, slowing down every now and then, licking his sensitive underside, twisting her hand around the base, sucking just the head.  
  
The Doctor said dirty things to her, filthy things, things he would never, ever, ever say to anyone else but her. His Rose. He growled her name, pumped himself harder, faster, until he felt the telltale tightening in his testicles, signalling his imminent completion.  
  
The Doctor came, spilling over his fisted hand with a deep, impatient sigh. The Timelord hand was still unsatisfied, still clenched around Rose’s freshly laundered jumper. He tossed it back into the hamper, feeling guilty, and cleaned himself up with a spare towel.  
  
"Shut up," he told his hand, holding it up and splaying the fingers open. "This is all your fault."  
  
His hand did not respond, but he still felt bad, so he berated it some more. “This can’t continue. Seriously. It’s going to end in humiliation for the both of us. You don’t want that, I know you don’t.”  
  
 _The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it._  
  
"Fantastic," he muttered, and wondered if amputation was a viable option.  
  
*  
  
Sufferers of Alien Hand Syndrome must live with the knowledge that there is no cure for it.  
  
Many patients become frustrated and disconnected from the alien hand, ultimately engaging in personification of said limb in order to psychologically and emotionally deal with it. It is common for an afflicted individual to refer to the hand as if it is another person, bestowing upon it a name that is usually negative in nature.  
  
'Oi, you,' was often employed in a hushed tone by the Doctor, or 'stop it, cheeky' and once, 'omega's othering orifice'- along with a few other choice epithets that were unrepeatable in respectable company.  
  
The symptoms can be reduced and managed to some degree by keeping the alien hand occupied and involved in a task or by giving it an object to hold in its grasp.  
  
For instance, a sonic screwdriver prototype, number three, to be exact, a far improved model over it’s predecessors. The Doctor was making modifications to it that were ingenious to be honest, quite possibly making it superior to even the original.  
  
Thankfully, things at Torchwood began heating up over the course of the next few days and the Doctor was so pre-occupied with various alien threats and research proposals that his hand didn’t have time to get into trouble.  
  
But, as always, whenever he got too comfortable or too confident with any given aspect of his life, the Universe came around to remind him who was boss.  
  
The weekend came, as it was wont to do, and the Doctor and Rose were given that rarest of reprieves - no monsters, no threats, no Tyler family gatherings. Just a quiet night in for the two of them with a movie and some chips.  
  
Rose leaned over him to grab the remote, ostensibly to start the film, and her breast brushed against his arm. The Doctor froze and gripped his knees until she settled back onto her side of the sofa. Releasing the breath he was holding, he loosened his clenched fists- only to have Rose reach out and snatch at his alien hand.  
  
She grabbed it suddenly, holding it up, turning it back and forth to inspect his palm and his knuckles. He swore inwardly. He should have known she’d notice something was off.  
  
"What is it?" She demanded, frowning at him in consternation. "What’s wrong with your hand?"  
  
"Nothing," he muttered, using every ounce of self-control he had not to yank himself out of her grasp. That would arouse her suspicions even further, which was exactly what he didn’t need. He swallowed, tried to sound casual as he blustered out, "Wh-why would you think there’s something wrong with my hand?"  
  
"You keep looking at it like something’s wrong," Rose said, because Rose always noticed, always saw, the little things, the things people didn’t always want her to see. "Have you injured it or something? Does it hurt?"  
  
He babbled, the fine smooth talker he was: “It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”  
  
He was pretty sure she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t press the issue.  
  
"Fine, keep it to yourself," she muttered, giving his hand one last suspicious examination. Unable to find any sign of injury or infection, she gave up and intertwined her fingers with his before the Doctor realised what she was about. He sucked in a breath, but he needn’t have worried. Happily his hand curled around her palm, tingling contentedly as  every nerve ending began dancing for joy.

_Touching Rose._

Well. That was all he wanted, too.  
  
That and to press her against the back of the sofa and grind his erection into that perfect peach arse of hers. His hand would slip around her waist, slide down her belly, delve under her skirt and - _no knickers_ \- he’d push his finger inside, let his thumb play with her clit, torment her until she came.  
  
Blinking against the lurid and disconcertingly realistic images his thoughts had conjured up, the Doctor glanced over quickly at Rose and caught her as she finished the last of her food. She sighed contentedly, the way she always did after getting her fill of chips. He’d always found it adorable, but then she licked her fingers clean and the Doctor twitched, flushing guiltily.  
  
She changed the subject and started to tell him about her day. He tried, hard, to focus on what she was saying, but all he could manage was to lose himself in the sound of her voice. Her sultry, sexy voice, whispering into his ear, telling him what she wanted him to do to her on the living room rug that lay beneath their feet…  
  
Rose snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Hello? Anybody home in there?”  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Which is it?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you want water? Juice? Or wine? A drink. What do you want?" She looked at him, eyebrow raised, and he blistered under her gaze.  
  
What did he want?  
  
He wanted to stop getting trigger happy with himself, for starters. He was tired of being his best friend. He’d discovered the extent of his own potential, a thousand times over, thank you very much.  
  
He wanted to do the dirty, the humpty bumpty, the funky chicken, the hippity-dippitty, pickle-tickle, mating-macarena, mattress-mambo. He wanted to frolic in the cornfield, shake the sauce, verb her adjective noun and make like the City of Hornbeams on Ursulonamex and grow his saplings into the City of Singing Flowers. He wanted to dip his wick, lay the pipe, gild the lily, make the beast with two backs and duck duck goose. He wanted to _play Doctor_.  
  
 _He_ did. Not his hand.  
  
"I, uh-" The Doctor had a great, sinking feeling in his gut. "I’d like some water, please."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope this final chapter doesn't disappoint. Enjoy :)

*  
  
He held his breath, hand tightly closed around the doorknob. She still hadn’t noticed him, hadn’t noticed the door was slightly ajar.  
  
 _Doctor… I need you._  
  
The Doctor reached into his chest pocket and put his specs on. He wanted to see every little detail of this.  
  
 _Oh god, oh god, oh please…_  
  
Rose lay sprawled on their bed, completely naked and glassy-eyed with need. Frustrated, throaty moans issued from her throat as her fingers worked between her legs and on her breasts.  
  
 _Come on, come on, come on_ , she chanted as she writhed away, fingers thrusting in and out. _Fuck! Why can’t I come?_  
  
She was sopping wet, so utterly turned on… he could smell her, see how her thighs practically glistened with moisture.  
  
 _The Doctor is gonna be home soon. I wanna come, oh pleaseplease, just let me come._  
  
As quietly as he could manage, the Doctor nudged the door open, just wide enough for him to slip into the room, shoulder first.  
  
 _DoctorDoctorDoctorohmygodDoctor._  
  
It was too much, the sound of her voice calling out his name like that, like he was in bed with her, fucking her senseless.  
  
 _Yes_ , he growled.  
  
She gasped, eyes widening at the sight of him. The hand she’d been using to play with her breasts reached for the rumpled coverlet but the Doctor moved faster, crossing the room in a few strides to catch it with his own and press it against the headboard.  
  
 _Let go_ , she said, a blush sweeping over her fair skin. He knocked the pillow and covers off the bed, out of her reach. She blushed, harder. _Please. Doctor, you can’t. I’m… I’m not wearing anything._  
  
 _I noticed._  
  
He was a bastard, no denying it. Under his palm, he felt her pulse flutter wildly in her wrist. She turned her head and swallowed hard. _Don’t look._  
  
Only when hell froze over would he not look at Rose while she was naked and wet for him. _Why not? You were screaming my name, just now._  
  
He let go of her hand and was pleased when she didn’t move it to cover her breasts. The Doctor stepped back around to the foot of the bed.  
  
 _Is this what you get up to on your own when I go out?_ He asked, tilting his head for a better view. _Tell me the truth, Rose._  
  
 _N-no,_ she stammered. _No, I-_  
  
 _I said, tell the truth. Do you always touch yourself when I’m gone?_  
  
 _Yes,_ she said finally, licking her lips.  
  
 _Show me._  
  
Her fingers fluttered, shy, over the part of her he wanted to see the most. The Doctor waited expectantly for her to obey, knowing she would. Slowly, tentatively, Rose curled two fingers up, slid them back inside her slick folds.  
  
 _Just two fingers?_  
  
 _Three hurts,_ she said.  
  
 _Put another one in,_ he commanded. _One more._  
  
 _But it’s too tight,_ she pouted. _Why should I?_  
  
 _Because you need to get yourself ready._  
  
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. _Ready? Ready for what?_  
  
Wrapping his hands around each slender ankle, the Doctor pulled her legs apart, opening her fully to his gaze. He grinned cockily, making the implication crystal clear. _For me, of course._  
  
 _Oh. You’re-_ She shut her eyes, shivering. _Are you gonna…?_  
  
 _You’re getting distracted,_ he said sternly, adjusting his glasses. He inhaled deeply, loving her scent. _Get on with it, Rose._  
  
She did as she was told, his Rose. The Doctor undid his jacket, shrugged it off, never taking his eyes off the prize. His tie was next; it joined his jacket on the floor. He knelt on the end of the bed and inched up slowly until he was above her, arms and legs on either side of her body, making sure she couldn’t escape. He was careful not to touch her.  
  
 _How does it feel?_ She arched at the sound of his voice so close to her ear, presenting her perfect breasts to him just so. He took the hint and rolled one pink tip between his thumb and index finger. _I want you to tell me how it feels inside you, Rose._  
  
She gasped. _Like something’s missing._  
  
Brushing his lips against her temple, he kissed a little trail to the tip of her ear. _Harder, then._  
  
 _I can’t-_  
  
 _Yes, you can,_ he said. _Deeper. For me._  
  
 _I- no, no,_ her voice caught on a frantic sob. _Please, Doctor, it’s not enough._  
  
He was rock hard, hearing the desperate plea in  her voice. _How many times have you failed to make yourself come, Rose?_  
  
 _It’s your fault!_ She cried, biting her lip. _You won’t fuck me, so I have to do it myself, and it’s never enough!_  
  
 _Have I been neglecting you?_  
  
 _Yes,_ said Rose plaintively.  
  
 _You want me to fuck you?_  
  
 _Yes! Oh please. Please,_ Rose begged. _Doctor, just help me cum, please. I really wanna cum, I really wanna-_  
  
He brushed her hair off her face, stroked her trembling cheek. _Shh, love. Poor Rose. You’re so close, aren’t you?_  
  
 _Yes, oh god, Doctor-_  
  
He palmed her breast, took the other one in his mouth, biting gently. Rose cried out, bucking wildly, pushing her chest against his mouth. He held her down, licked and nibbled his way to her navel and hip bone to finally nuzzle the soft patch of hair that covered her mons.  
  
The Doctor positioned himself between her thighs and slid one hand under her bum to lift her up. His other hand pressed her left knee to the bed, opening her up wide.  
  
 _I’ll fuck you later,_ he whispered against her clit.  
  
She whimpered. _Promise?_  
  
 _I promise. But first I have to see how you taste, and then-_  
  
And then…  
  
And then…. he slapped his hand against the wall of the shower cubicle, expletives bouncing off the tiles. His imagination failed him again at this crucial point. He wondered achingly how Rose might taste.  
  
The Doctor took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down. He turned the faucet handle all the way to the right, hissing as the water suddenly went ice-cold.  
  
*  
  
Something soft brushed against his morning erection, sending jolts of pleasure through the Doctor’s body.  
  
 _Rose._  
  
He gritted his teeth and inhaled deeply, only to receive a lungful of her scent, strawberries and flowers and vanilla, a heady combination. His hand lay under her camisole, palm flat on her warm belly. She was so soft and sweet and sleepy and he was out of his mind with sinful desire.  
  
But there was nothing sinful about sex, was there? No, not at all. It was a biological imperative, the only means of ensuring the continued existence of the human race. It was his _duty_ , now, as a human being, to do his bit to copulate. Surely. Except he knew for a fact she was taking birth control, so they wouldn’t be doing any begetting, which was just fine with him.  
  
Rose moved in her sleep, snuggling even closer to him. He couldn’t help it, just couldn’t stop himself from sliding his hand up, beneath her camisole, over her ribs. Slowly, slowly. Just one touch, that would be enough to tide him over. He’d allow himself this, because they were in bed and half-asleep and it was _just one touch_.  
  
His finger stroked along the underside of her right breast, from the outer edge to the place where he could feel her heart beating. She had the most incredibly soft skin, like silk, warm and smooth.  
  
Rose shifted again, that pivotal two centimetres that brought her into full contact with his palm. His finger brushed one peaked nipple, ever-so-lightly, the ghost of a caress. She sighed, an aching exhalation of his name, and the sound reverberated through his entire body, recalling him to his senses.  
  
The Doctor peeled himself away carefully so that Rose wouldn’t wake and was stricken by the mournful little sound she made at the loss of his touch. He went into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub, knees shaky, and counted backwards from two billion in multiples of six starting with the highest natural number divisible by thirteen.  
  
*  
  
 _This can’t go on any longer._ He was killing himself, holding back from what his body desperately wanted. There was no cure for him except to find release, and the only way he could get that was to find a way to communicate to Rose that he needed her. Suavely. Romantically. At the right moment.  
  
It didn’t help that Rose was getting suspicious, and had begun to ask questions like “Are you okay?” and “Why are you looking at me like that?” and “Is there something on my face?” whenever she caught him staring at her, usually in the middle of his increasingly raunchy fantasies about bending her over the kitchen table and making her scream his name.  
  
He was in the middle of getting dressed, trying to get his tie on straight without strangling himself in the process. The task was made difficult by the way his eyes kept insisting on wandering to the other side of the bedroom where Rose was putting on her jeans. He thought he was being quite discreet, but perhaps he was just going cross-eyed and it had caught her attention.  
  
"What?" she asked, turning to face him.  
  
"Nothing," he said.  
  
"You’re being weird again."  
  
"No I’m not," he said, fumbling with the tie. He gave up in the end and threw it to the ground, reaching for another tie in the dresser drawer.  
  
She came really close, really really close, right into his personal bubble of personal space. It was something he usually did to other people and damn if it wasn’t effective.  
  
 _Cool thoughts. Cool thoughts. Iceberg. The surface of Mars. You are a pool of still blackness, reflect nothing._  
  
"I know you’re lying," Rose said, poking his chest. "I just don’t know why."  
  
He could still feel the silk of her nipple on his fingertip, still had the smell of her hair in his nostrils. This was pure agony. He recited the complete teachings of Gandhi in his head while she stood on tiptoe and stared unblinkingly at him. When that didn’t work, he thought about his pet peeves: _Daleks, Cybermen, guns, pears, people who talk at the theatre, library fines, humans on buses, laryngitus…_  
  
"It’s not life-threatening, or you would’ve said," she mused aloud, her breath tickling his throat and making him swallow, convulsively. "Rules out alien activity. You seem to have settled in fine at Torchwood, so I don’t think it’s that. Tony struck you on the head, but I don’t think you’re holding that against him, so… is it Mum? Did she say something to you?"  
  
She hit him with that patented Rose Tyler look that constantly made him weak in the knees. She’d gotten away with a lot in the past using that look and after all this time the Doctor was still not immune. He turned his head, avoiding it.  
  
Pet peeves, pet peeves, where was he? _Oh yeah, guns, 23rd century Post-Ironic Celine Dion cover bands, breeding cults, poetry slam bars, Sirius Black falling through the curtain, guns…_  
  
"Are you… sick? Is it a Metacrisis problem?"  
  
"I’m fine," he insisted. "Seriously fine. Finer than fine. Fine as a feather. The finest!"  
  
"Give me a hint! Anything! Oh come on, Doctor," Rose said cajolingly, slipping her arm around his waist. "What is it? What’s bothering you so much you can’t tell me?"  
  
 _… guns, guns, that one time Tegan taught Adric how to play Cat’s Cradle and instead of using string they used the wires connecting the seismic scanner to the main console, guns, the great potato famine…_  
  
"Fine, you win. Stubborn as ever." She sighed and wrapped both arms around him, giving him a light squeeze around the middle.  
  
Rising on her tiptoes, she pecked him on the cheek. Goosebumps lifted on the back of his neck, and finally he looked down at her. She smiled and kissed him properly, sweetly, as if to reassure him she wasn’t upset with him.  
  
Helplessly he responded, far too eagerly, his hands roaming down to rest on her bum, pulling her closer. Rose made a little sound at the back of her throat and obliged, her lips parting to let him in.  
  
He couldn’t get enough of her. It was excruciating, living in this black hole of wanting Rose and blaming his hand for it when really it was he who existed only as a giant ball of frustration. He took all of that pent-up desire and poured it into the kiss, straining for some form of relief.  
  
She reciprocated with enthusiasm, her passion igniting his own. Gasping, she squirmed in his arms as he pressed her against him, against the part of him that desperately wanted friction and pressure and Rose. He felt her gasp again, and then push against him. He didn’t notice at first, didn’t let up, he was so consumed with ardor- but when she wrenched her lips away, panting, he heard her-  
  
"Doctor, wait, stop-"  
  
He froze, as though ice had been poured suddenly through his veins. There was a roaring in his ears. He’d given into his baser desires, he’d rushed her, rushed everything, and now there was no going back-  
  
"Sorry," he managed to say, just two raspy vowels. With great effort he loosened his grip on her bottom and began to pull away, to put distance between them. He stammered, "Sorry. I didn’t mean to-, I wasn’t-, I just-"  
  
Rose seemed to realise he was trying to make a run for the door and got in his way, forcing him to stand still. “I don’t mean it like that. I want to be with you, too.” She blushed and took a deep breath. “But… I don’t want our first time together to be… a distraction for you.”  
  
The earth seemed to have been yanked out from under his feet. The roaring in his ears intensified into a great whitening wash of sound, obliterating everything except the words that had just come out of Rose Tyler’s mouth.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You’ve been… on edge. You know, skittish. Whenever I come near you, especially. It’s a bit worrisome. More than a bit, actually. But just now… it was the complete opposite. You seemed, uh, interested. I’m getting mixed signals from you, which is confusing. Does that make sense?"  
  
"No," he said, slowly, disbelievingly. "No it doesn’t, actually. Say that again," he demanded.  
  
"You’ve been on edge," she began. "And it’s confusing me, and-"  
  
He shook his head, seized her wrists, and interrupted, “Not that. The bit before.”  
  
She tried again. “You’re skittish, and I-“  
  
” _Not that_ ,” he repeated, pulling her towards him. “The other thing.”  
  
"What thing?" Rose was bewildered.  
  
His eyes bore into hers. “The part where you want me.”  
  
There was a beat of silence. Rose opened and closed her mouth, several times, before she was able to speak. “Yes, but… that’s… did you hear the rest of what I just said?”  
  
"Yes. No." He ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. He paced around the room, going a full circle before turning around to stare at Rose - beautiful Rose, gorgeous Rose, Rose who wanted him - in wonderment.  
  
"You said, you said-" His tongue tripped over the words, he was trying to get them out too quickly, excitement and hope making him hasty. "Correct me if I’m wrong, because sometimes that happens, sometimes I _am_ wrong, albeit rarely as history has proven and will continue to prove, but - and I’m extrapolating here, Rose, making an educated guess, if you will. Based on what I’m hearing, it seems, ah, that you’re suggesting that you wouldn’t be adverse to a… union between us.”  
  
Rose tried to say something, but he wasn’t finished. “A union of a specifically, definitively, positively carnal nature. Is that what you meant?”  
  
"No-"  
  
"No?" He looked sharply at her. "What do you mean by no, exactly? Would that be no, you’re not adverse to me, or no, you’re not interested, or no-" He paused, thought better of it, and rushed to finish before he ran out of steam, or courage, or both. "Because, that’s what I want," the Doctor blurted out.  
  
Rose, clever Rose, she wasn’t slow on the uptake at all. He could clearly see understanding dawning in her eyes as she connected the dots.   
  
"That’s why you’ve been acting so strangely? Because- because you want to-" Her voice trailed off, and there was something hot and bothered in her gaze, in the rise and fall of her chest as she regarded him. "All this time, I couldn’t figure out why you kept looking at me funny, like, like…"  
  
She faltered, voice cracking slightly. “Like the way you’re looking at me right now.”  
  
"Nothing funny about it," he said, lunging forward to kiss her again.

For a moment there was nothing but the feel of her hands clutching at his shirt and the curve of her waist and the sweet peppermint flavour of her mouth. He felt her get lost in the kiss, as he did, because it was so good and new and untested, but Rose soon came to herself and broke away, panting. The Doctor’s eyes had gone dark and unfocused, his gazed locked onto her tingling, swollen lips.  
  
"Let me get this straight," she said faintly, her fingers gripping his shoulder. "You’ve been acting weird because you’ve been thinking about doing… this. With me."  
  
"I think about it all the time," he said hoarsely, "Being with you. I want it quite badly, if I’m honest. You might’ve guessed that, already, from earlier. It’s been quite the predicament for me."  
  
"Oh," was all she could manage. She’d barely got the word out before he bent his head to hers once more.  
  
"Doctor-" Rose pushed against his chest, but he couldn’t stop. "Just wait a sec-" He walked her backwards, pressed her against the wall next to the bed and spread hungry kisses across her collarbone.  
  
"Can’t. Don’t wanna," he muttered, nipping at her throat. He begged. "Don’t, Rose. Please."  
  
She made a sound then, in that moment, her eyes fluttering shut. It was a little whimper, just like the ones she made in his dreams, and he truly did lose control then. He couldn’t stop touching her. Vehemently, single-mindedly, as though his life depended on it. She wasn’t fighting him anymore, not at all. Her arms had crept around his shoulders, and she was willingly, enthusiastically participating in the embrace.  
  
"I want you so much. It’s all I think about. Every single minute of every day. Always. How soft your skin is, how good you smell." His fingers roamed under the hem of her t-shirt, bunched it up as he ran his hands over her ribs and cupped her breasts. Her nipples were hard through the lace cups, hard enough to cut glass. He swore, teasing one with his thumb. A cry bubbled out of her.   
  
"I’m obsessed, and that’s an understatement. I look at you, and I’m hard." He ground his hips against hers, letting her feel the truth of the statement. "Rose, oh god, Rose. Look at me."  
  
She opened her eyes, with effort, and met his gaze. It almost killed him to say it, when he had her pinned and melting against him, but he forced himself to get the words out. “I can still stop. Just about. If you say no, I will.”  
  
There was a moment of near silence, as Rose watched him, hot-bodied and languid. She grasped his shoulders and turned him in a semi-circle, pushing to make him sit, heavily, on the foot of the bed, and then another push, forcing him onto his back. His blood pounded as she proceeded to climb onto him, a move he hadn’t even come up with in his fantasies, and rested her hands on his chest.  
  
 _Yes._  
  
Her hand covered his and boldly slipped it down, further, under the waistband of her shorts, under her knickers.  
  
She was so hot, Rose, every inch of her scorching to the touch. He wondered how hot she would have felt if he’d touched her like this as a full-fledged Timelord, back when his resting temperature had been considerably cooler. What a fool he’d been to have never found out. So many opportunities, simply _wasted_.  
  
"Can I…" he couldn’t quite vocalise what he wanted, in the heat of the moment. He knew so many words, so many languages, and all of them suddenly seemed inadequate.  
  
"Yes," said Rose, and for the first time, it wasn’t a fantasy.  
  
They shed their clothes, tossing them haphazardly across the room. Rose Tyler was naked, kissing him, wrapping herself around him, skin-to-skin. Finally. He touched her everywhere he could reach, kissed all the parts of her he’d never kissed before, which was really quite a lot, he’d been so remiss and deprived up until now.  
  
The Doctor shuddered as her nails scraped the sensitive skin of his scalp. She rubbed herself against him, the slick glide of her pussy reminding him that he had free reign to do what he’d fantasized all week of doing. _Priorities_ , he told his cock. _You’ll get your turn_.  
  
"Let me," he said hoarsely, his voice low. "Let me have you. Just like this."  
  
"Anything you want," said Rose, devastating him with the simplicity of the promise. She trusted and wanted him, the only two things other than her love that mattered to him in the entire universe. He crawled his way down her gorgeous body and got his reward.  
  
Just like he’d fantasized, except better. Oh, way better. He spread her legs apart, making a space for himself, and kissed her where she was silently begging him to.  
  
No tongue at first, tempting as it was, just his lips to hers. He stroked up and down her leg, licked along the line where her thigh met her right buttock and finally dipped his tongue into the source of her sweet, dripping honey. She tasted amazing, indescribably delicious, just as he’d known she would.  
  
"Tell me what feels good," he said, as he slid one finger inside her and bent it up, a lewd beckoning motion. His cock liked the idea, but he ignored it in favour of the way Rose’s hand gripped his head, pulling fantastically at his hair.  
  
"Like this?" He licked from side to side, just above her clit, toying with it. "Or like this?" Enveloped her with his lips and sucked, gently.  
  
She jolted, pushed on his head.  
  
 _Too soon._ He learned quickly that she liked short, quick flicks of his tongue more than sucking. But he would discover it worked as a finishing move, right when her thighs started twitching, a sign that she was about to finish.  
  
She didn’t last long, her moans making him feel savage. His mouth burst with the victorious, addictive taste of Rose’s cum. The Doctor savoured the moment, greedily filing every brilliant detail away. The first orgasm Rose Tyler had ever had for him, committed to permanent memory.  
  
"Again," he said, rearing up, wiping his chin with the back of his left hand. His right hand refused to stray from touching Rose, impatiently insinuating itself between her folds again.  
  
She bucked her hips, squirming, and gasped, “Doctor, oh god, wait-“  
  
"Again." He couldn’t stop, now that his appetite had been whetted. He’d barely had his first bite, and he was determined to have his fill. There’d be no doubt left in her mind after tonight that he wanted, oh yes. The Doctor was going to take, as much as he wanted, she’d promised he could.  
  
"Turn over." His voice was dark and husky. "On your hands and knees."  
  
She paused, unsure.  
  
"You said anything," he reminded her. He flipped her around and lifted her backside into the air. She squeaked, embarrassed, and closed her eyes as he buried his face between her legs from behind.  
  
Though the view was stunning, he couldn’t reach her clit as well as he’d like with his tongue in this position. Judging from the sounds she made and the way her hands fisted in the bedsheets, Rose didn’t really mind. The Doctor, however, felt bereft, unable to see her expression.  
  
She whimpered but didn’t argue when he pulled away to lie on his back, positioning her above him, knees on either side of his head.  
  
"Mine," he said, eloquent as always, before wrapping his hands over her thighs and pulling her down. She lowered herself eagerly and the Doctor held his tongue still, letting her grind against his face and allowing her to set a rhythm that offered the greatest pleasure.  
  
He discovered another perk to this particular position: meeting Rose’s half-lidded gaze. The sway of her breasts was mesmerising as she moved her hips in an erratic figure-eight above him. His love, his Rose, so beautiful with her back arched, nipples jutting, every cell in her body striving for completion. She came, hard, curse words tumbling out of her mouth along with his name.  
  
Tenderly, the Doctor licked along her slit, noticing how she winced and arched away when his tongue grazed her oversensitized clitoris. Kissing her thigh in apology, he avoided the swollen bud and pressed butterfly kisses to her slick folds until she came down from her orgasm, hips trembling. He squeezed her gorgeous behind and lifted her off him, letting her collapse bonelessly onto the bed.  
  
"You…" She licked her lips, lying still as he dotted kisses across her neck and shoulder. "That… that was impressive."  
  
He grinned against her collarbone, shoving one leg between hers to make a space for himself. “Again?”  
  
Rose laughed, a huffy, sexy sound, but all the same she arched her back, rubbing the answer against him.  
  
"Again," he confirmed, and slid down her body.  
  
*  
  
Wordlessly, he knelt between her legs, sweat-slicked and intent. _Now, now, now_ , his blood chorused, in tune with the racing beat of his single human heart. _Now, now, now, get inside her, inside Rose-_  
  
The Doctor forced himself to wait and held his cock in his hand, teased the tip along her folds. She was wet, that was all him, he’d done that to her, made her come over and over again with his tongue and fingers.  
  
Her breath hitched as he pushed inside, slowly, so slowly, despite feeling like a match put to flame. Tight. Hot. Wet. Inch by agonizing inch, he knew nothing else except for the feel of Rose’s body, clenching around his cock.  
  
He stilled once he was fully embedded, to the hilt, sweat beading on his forehead from the exertion of holding back. Rose groaned and opened her eyes to glare at him.  
  
"Stop… teasing," she complained, biting her knuckle and bucking up, trying to get him to move. "Just… just _fuck me_ already.”  
  
His body reacted violently to this demand, pulling out and thrusting back in without care or finesse. He hooked his arms under her knees and fell forward, taking one breast into his mouth.  
  
Rose was noisy. The Doctor liked that. He liked that a lot. So much so that he was struggling not to come after just a few strokes.  
  
"Am I…" he punctuated the question with a thrust, "Is this," he withdrew, her inner muscles squeezing as if to keep him inside, "Is this… good for you? Tell me-" he slid back in.  
  
"Get in deeper," she said, right into his ear, clutching at his ass and digging her nails into it. He growled and pounded into her, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in. She made a noise that was between a scream and a moan; it was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard in all 900 plus years of existence.  
  
"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," Rose cried.  
  
The Doctor bit her shoulder. “Doing it,” he panted.  
  
"More," she gasped. "You’re so good, so big…" The sound of her voice was enough to make him feel like combusting, but to hear her praise, it was too much. With a final, consuming thrust, he spilled inside her, crying out her name over and over.  
  
She held him in the crook of her shoulder, cradling his head with both arms. Her fingers combed through his hair, soothing and enflaming him at the same time. Rassilon Almighty. He’d barely lasted five minutes.  
  
"Sorry," he murmured, rolling off her and feeling like an idiot. "I’m so sorry."  
  
"What are you apologizing for?" Rose asked, sighing a little. He felt her shift, the movement pressing her still pointed nipples against his chest. She gave him a half-lidded, teasing grin. "Or are you complaining? Wasn’t I gentle enough? I know it’s your first time, but-"  
  
He snorted, despite himself. “It’s not my first time.”  
  
"Yeah, I know, you’ve _danced_. But not in this body. Or is there something you haven’t told me?”  
  
He lifted his head and looked straight into her eyes. “Was it okay? I mean… I wasn’t… you didn’t…”  
  
"Are you fishing for compliments?"  
  
"Yeah," he admitted.  
  
"Right. You were brilliant, amazing, truly a Casanova between the sheets. Happy?"  
  
The Doctor grinned.  
  
"So, how do you feel, you sex god?"  
  
"Brilliant. Euphoric. Salubrious. Absolutely hale! Bit out of breath. I suppose I need more practice."  
  
"Mmm. Yes. Practice."  
  
The only appropriate response was a happy sigh, knowing that he’d done well, pleasured his lady love, and could safely assume that there would be repeat performances. “Lots, please,” he said aloud. “Lots and lots.”  
  
Rose giggled and yawned, her eyes drifting shut lazily.  
  
"Oh no, no you don’t," he said, tickling her waist and making her squirm. "No sleeping. This is our first post-coital cuddle. It’s time for pillow talk. I demand it."  
  
"Blokes always want to sleep after sex," Rose informed him, turning so she could snuggle up closer to his side.  
  
"Not me," he said, eyeing her breasts. "I’m not a bloke."  
  
"You’re definitely a bloke," she said, poking him in the ribs. "Just one thing on your mind. You know, I always…" the sentence trailed off into another yawn, and then Rose fell silent, leaving the sentiment unfinished. He looked up to see a smile playing about her lips.  
  
"You always what?"  
  
"Oh, nevermind."  
  
"What?" He nibbled her ear, just because he could, and kissed the sensitive patch of skin at the base of her neck, also because he could. "Rose, what?"  
  
"Not telling," she muttered, clutching at his head. "You’ll never shut up about it."  
  
"Spoilsport."  
  
"Your ego doesn’t need anymore stroking, it’s swollen enough."  
  
It was too easy, just way too easy to let pass. He opened his mouth to say the expected dirty things about other swollen bits of him that needed stroking but she told him fondly to shut up and snogged him well and proper.  
  
"Always wondered if you’d be good at that," Rose whispered, after a truly heart-wrenching kiss, her hand splayed over his heart. "This. Now I know."  
  
Bliss spread through his chest, filled him with warmth. “Rose Tyler! Are you saying you fantasized about us?”  
  
She blushed a very becoming shade of her namesake. He was inordinately pleased, and as he watched the flush creep from her cheeks to other, more alluring parts of her body, a wickedly brilliant idea occurred to him-  
  
"Tell me yours, tell you mine?"  
  
*  
  
The end.


End file.
